"02 - Tantras - Richard Awlinson 1.0.palmdoc.pdb" - читать интересную книгу автора (Avatar Trilogy)

"He was here," Forester said, "but he disappeared into the woods some time back. I haven't seen him since."

Cyric cursed softly and headed for the trees.

"Be careful!" Forester called as Cyric walked toward the smoky forest. "We heard some kind of wild animal in there a little while ago."

Most likely a panther, Cyric thought. At least that means Kelemvor's not far away. The thief drew his sword and cautiously moved into the forest.

Smoke hung in the air deep into the woods, so that Cyric found it difficult to breathe at times. His brown eyes reddened as stinging tears ran down his lean face and streaked the grime still caked there from the battle. The thief squinted and continued to press on through the groves of oak and tangles of vines that filled the forest around him.

After moving east for about an hour, Cyric noticed that the air was clearing and he could breathe more easily. He discovered a tuft of black fur on a large thorny bush, but as the thief was examining the fur, he heard a branch snap loudly to the south, then another. Quickly he ducked behind a tree and gripped his sword more firmly.

Within two minutes, a blood-spattered Zhentish archer rushed past Cyric's hiding place. The archer was breathing hard, his arms and legs pumping frantically. After every two or three steps, he threw a worried glance back over his shoulder. Birds of various shapes and colors erupted from the bushes and shot noisily into the sky as the soldier passed.

Cyric started to scramble up the tree, hoping to avoid whatever was chasing the young archer. Halfway up, thoughts of the Spiderhaunt Woods, where Cyric had tried to escape from some giant spiders by climbing into the tree-tops, rushed into his head. Perhaps this is a mistake, he thought.

Before Cyric could leap to the ground, a large black panther burst from the trees and headed north after the Zhentish archer. The creature's beautiful green eyes were sparkling with malevolent glee as it raced through the forest and out of Cyric's sight.

"Kel," Cyric muttered softly and started to climb down from the tree. He heard a short, high-pitched screech to the north, followed quickly by the roar of the panther as it savaged its victim.

Cyric's eyes glazed momentarily as pity welled inside him for Kelemvor Lyonsbane, the powerful, highly skilled fighter who had been his companion for nearly a year. Kelemvor had traveled alongside him, along with Adon, a cleric of Sune, and Midnight, a spirited, raven-haired magic-user, on a quest to rescue the Goddess of Magic. Now Adon and Midnight were imprisoned in the dungeon of the Twisted Tower, awaiting trial for the murder of Elminster, while Kelemvor roamed the woods in the form of a panther. But the fighter had no control over his transformation into a beast.

The Lyonsbane family was cursed.

Long ago, one of Kelemvor's ancestors had abandoned a powerful mage during a battle, choosing instead to strike out after a treasure. The mage's dying curse made it impossible for the Lyonsbanes to do anything for less than altruistic reasons. However, over time, the curse reversed itself. Now a Lyonsbane could not do anything except what was in his own best interest. To aid another, he must receive a reward. Kelemvor had no choice but to become a hardened mercenary-or turn into a monster until he killed someone!

I wonder what activated the curse this time? Cyric thought as he crept through the underbrush.

The panther was lying down, licking the blood from its claws, when Cyric entered the small clearing. The torn body of the Zhentish archer was stretched out in front of the animal. As soon as the panther saw Cyric, it tensed, started to rise, and bared its perfect, white teeth in a savage snarl. Cyric leveled his sword defensively and backed up a cautious step.

"It's Cyric, Kel! Stay back! Don't make me hurt you."

The panther growled deep in its throat and crouched, as if it were about to pounce. Cyric continued to back up slowly until he felt a large oak behind him. Grimly he prepared to run the panther through if it leaped at him. The panther appeared ready to pounce at any instant, but instead it suddenly became very still, then threw back its head and gave a high, piercing yowl.

As Cyric watched, the panther's fur rippled spasmodically. The beast spread its jaws wide, wider than should have been possible. Two hands, covered with gore, reached out from inside the creature, grabbed its jaws, and forced them even wider. There was a sickening tearing sound, and suddenly the panther's body, starting at the mouth, split in half. The animal half dropped to the ground and instantly started to disintegrate.

A shivering, naked, manlike creature collapsed on the ground beside the pile of disintegrating animal flesh, where the panther had crouched only seconds before. Cyric stood frozen in awe. Though he had witnessed Kelemvor's transformation from panther to man once before, in Tilverton, the thief was both fascinated and revulsed by the spectacle. He found it impossible to turn away. Soon the shape on the ground became thoroughly human.

"Who-who did I kill this time?" Kelemvor asked softly. He tried to lift himself off the ground, but he was too weak.

"A Zhentish soldier. The dalesmen will thank you for it later." Cyric removed his cloak and wrapped it around Kelemvor's shoulders. "What caused you to change, Kel?"

"Elminster," Kelemvor said, shaking his head weakly. "He promised to remove the curse if I fought for Shadowdale in the battle. But if Elminster's dead, I can't receive my payment." The fighter glanced at the body of the Zhentish archer and shuddered. "I'm just glad it wasn't one of the dalesmen."

"Why? The dalesmen are no different from the Zhentish." Cyric scowled at the fighter. "Do you know what I just saw? I saw Forester, that big oaf who fought with me at the bridge, slit the throat of a helpless, wounded Zhentilar rather than take him prisoner."

"Remember, this is war, Cyric." The fighter flexed his arms. Finding his strength returned, Kelemvor pushed himself up from the ground. "You can't expect the dalesmen to tie up troops caring for the wounded of their enemies. Besides, the Zhentish started this. It serves them right."

"And does it serve Midnight and Adon right to be locked up in the Twisted Tower, waiting for the dalesmen to find them guilty of Elminster's murder?" Cyric snapped. "You and I know that they didn't kill that old man. It was probably Bane's avatar or a misfired spell. But the villagers need someone to blame, so they'll undoubtedly find our friends guilty."